


Papi Pacify

by aghamora



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 14:29:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6332740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aghamora/pseuds/aghamora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes there are doors you can’t close after you open them for the first time.</p><p>Not that Frank particularly wants to close this one. But holy hell, even now, Laurel is still able to shock him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Papi Pacify

**Author's Note:**

> This one goes out to the Flaurel group chat. Because we all belong in hell.
> 
> If only my teachers from Catholic school could see me now.

It starts, as it often does, with a text.

- _I’ve been thinking about you all day, daddy_

Frank is in the middle of taking a sip of coffee when his phone lights up with the message, and the words, spelled out across his lockscreen and accompanied by an innocuous little ping, make him freeze, then promptly inhale his coffee.

_Fucking hell._

It scalds the back of his throat, and Frank dissolves into a fit of coughs, trying to stifle them and keep the kids, who are only feet away in the living room, from noticing. His eyes fly in their direction nonetheless after he settles down, and he finds Laurel among them right where he knew she’d be: seated on the arm of the couch where he has an almost perfect line of sight to her, clad in a maroon skirt, black knee socks, and twirling a lollipop idly in between her fingers, as her eyes burn into his, communicating her intentions perfectly without words. All of it’s on purpose, he knows. All of it’s to drive him off the deep end.

But Jesus _Christ_ , Laurel still never ceases to be able to surprise him.

It’s not like this is new. It’s not like they haven’t done this before, _a lot_ – but somehow, every single time they do, whenever she brings it up like it’s nothing out of the ordinary, it catches him off guard. It’s not a routine, this dynamic; they do it often, but not often enough for it to feel totally normal yet – which, well, it _isn’t._

No, this is abso-fucking-lutely _not_ normal.

- _What’d I say about doing this at work?_

That’s not him playing a part; that’s a legitimate goddamn concern, because if she teases him like this, right where he can’t escape, and does this _here_ , with the rest of the group and Bonnie and Annalise…

The pinging of his phone, again, stops that train of thought before it can venture further.

- _I forgot to put something on this morning. Look_

He tries to resist. Tries to focus his eyes on something, anything, that isn’t Laurel sitting there across the room, looking as enticing as anything he’s ever seen before in his life, so good he wants nothing more than to eat her right up. He tries to resist, and fails, and his eyes flick over in her direction nonetheless, finding her cheeks flushed with color, eyes wide, teeth biting at her lower lip.

Frank has no clue what she means, for a moment – that is, until Laurel glances around at the others to make sure they aren’t watching, shifts in her seat, uncrosses her legs, and spreads them slightly, in precisely the right way for him to see she isn’t wearing any underwear, and that’s she shaved herself bare and smooth, just like he likes it, leaving her pink folds exposed. It makes his head spin, his pulse quicken, his cock stir between his legs like a beast awakening at the sight of her, and he gulps. Just as quickly as she’d uncrossed her legs, however, Laurel crosses them again, pops her lollipop back between her lips, and lowers her eyes back to her phone, fingers tapping away for a few seconds, before-

_Ping._

- _I shaved for you, daddy. Do you like it?_

Fuck. _Fucking fuck_ , she knows just how to get him: play this part, the _baby girl_ , be bad, so he’ll have no choice but to punish her later. Normally, though, she isn’t this brazen, and especially not at work with the others around. She’s never teased him so boldly before, so willingly invited retaliation, and every bone in his body and every inch of his cock is screaming at him to do just that the second he has her alone: retaliate – but no. He’ll stay calm. Be in control. Be something – and some _one_ – other than what he normally is, because that’s what he turns into when they play this twisted game of theirs.

He’s not her boyfriend, now. He’s not her lover. He’s her _daddy_ , and as he’s come to find out, that’s a whole other dimension to their relationship.

- _You got any idea how much trouble you’re gonna be in when we get home?_

A smug little smile plays at Laurel’s lips as she types out her reply, eyes glancing up briefly to appraise him from a distance. This is exactly the reaction she wants, and he’s playing right into her hands and he knows it, because it’s what he wants, too. Jesus, he’d never even had a _clue_ he’d wanted this, something so fucked-up and incredible, before she’d introduced it to him, gotten him hooked on it like a drug. And they don’t do this all the time, maybe, but when they do… It’s all he wants. It transforms him.

- _A lot I hope_

All the blood in his body rushes to his cock, makes him shift awkwardly and settle a folder over his burgeoning erection, in the hopes that keeping it out of sight will also keep it out of his mind.

- _You’re damn right a lot. Now get back to work, or I won’t let you come tonight. Not ONCE_

Spanking or pulling her hair or any other kind of punishment wouldn’t be a threat this version of Laurel cares much about, but that certainly is, and so she sobers up, squeezes her legs together, and lowers her head obediently back to the case file in her lap, as if it’s no trouble at all to switch off the desire he’s sure is throbbing between her legs. He’s not nearly as fortunate, though, certainly not after _that_ little display. Frank shifts in his seat again, feeling himself almost painfully hard and bulging in his slacks, and it’s so obvious that he really prays to God Annalise doesn’t ask him to stand up and run some late-night errand for her, because then… He’d be fucked.

And – well, who is he kidding? He's already fucked.

 

\--

 

It’s two AM by the time Annalise lets them go.

He should be exhausted, but instead he’s painfully awake, every nerve ending in his body buzzing with electricity as he grabs Laurel by the arm and walks her out to his car, making it abundantly clear that she has no choice but to go home with him tonight – not that she’d want anything else, that is. They don’t speak during the car ride home, though; he’s tense, pissed off by her teasing and because he knows _pissed off_ is what she wants, and so they ascend the stairs to his place in silence too, the only sound to be hear the faint tapping of their footsteps on the hardwood.

Even as he unlocks the door and they step inside, Frank doesn’t say anything. He gives her the cold shoulder, doesn’t even look at her, as he stalks over to his bar, shrugs off his suit jacket, unbuttons his waistcoat so it hangs open in the front, and pours himself a glass of bourbon, raising it to his lips without a word. Laurel lingers in the doorway for a minute, silently, and he only spares her a backward glance when she opens her mouth, voice coming out breathy and girlish, in that high-pitched register she always uses for this.

For _him_.

“Am I still in trouble, daddy?”

The question makes shivers pass over the back of his neck. He swallows heavily, the amber liquid burning his throat as he takes in the sight of her from across the room. Laurel’s eyes are downcast, feigning obedience so much unlike her, and hearing that word aloud – daddy, fucking _daddy_ – hits Frank like a kick right in the gut, like always. He’d managed to temper the flames of his arousal all night at the office, but they come rushing back in mere seconds, and he clenches his jaw, grinds his teeth, feels himself harden in his slacks once more.

“What do you think? After _that_? Puttin’ on a damn show for me in front of everyone like I’m your toy?” he bites the words out as harsh as he can make them, making his way over to the couch and sinking down heavily onto it, with his glass still in hand. “What do you got to say for yourself, princess?”

 _Princess._ There it is: her pet name of choice, and it makes her squirm, and underneath her skirt he’s sure it makes her even wetter, makes her positively _drip_. She’s the picture of wide-eyed innocence that’s not very innocent at all, sweet and pure and begging to be debauched, and he’s never seen anything quite so alluring before in his life.

“I don’t-” she begins, timid, and he cuts her off.

“Uh uh. You come over here, and you sit on my lap, and you _tell me_ how bad you were.”

Laurel’s eyes light up at that. She tries to hide how much the order thrills her, and bites back a smile, prompting him to bark at her again; not loudly, but firm and more than a little menacing, in just the right way to make her shudder.

“The hell you smilin’ at?”

The grin falls from her lips at once. Laurel shifts her weight from leg to leg, pretending to hesitate, before finally making her way over to where he sits. He spreads his legs slightly, pats his lap, motions for her to straddle him, and with feigned sheepishness she does, sinking down, the bulge in his slacks brushing the inside of her thigh. It makes him grunt, before he can stop himself, and for a second Laurel looks triumphant, like she thinks she’s regained the upper hand, like _she’s_ the one in charge, now.

But she isn’t. And when he reaches out, fists his hand in her hair, and jerks her closer to him roughly, the look of triumph floods out of her eyes – and she knows it, too.

“Say it,” he snarls, tightening his hold on her, making her wince.

“I was… bad.” She gulps, licking her lips, pupils huge and dark and dilated. “I was so bad, I know I was, but…”

“But what?”

Defiance glitters in her eyes, but she bites it back, gnawing again at her lip. “I couldn’t help it. And I wanted you so bad, all day, watching you, and I know I shouldn’t have-”

“That’s your excuse?”

Her mouth falls shut, for a moment. Then, she sucks in a shaky breath, wetting her lips again. “I’ll be better, next time. I’ll be good, I promise.”

“Good?” he echoes, disbelieving. Without warning, he reaches down between her legs, and finds her cunt easily with two fingers. He’s not surprised at all to find how wet she is, her juices smeared messily on the insides of her thighs, making his fingers slick, and she’s so smooth that he glides across her nether lips effortlessly. He moves back after a moment, cupping her mound and grinding the heel of his hand firmly against her clit, making her hips rock and drawing a soft cry from her. “You think _good_ girls get themselves all wet like this?”

Laurel narrows her eyes slightly, glancing down at the rock-hard bulge between his own legs that’s only growing harder and harder to ignore by the second – for both of them.

“I don’t think you’re very good either, daddy.”

Another sharp tug on her hair shuts her up, makes her cry out, eyes reddening with tears from the burn in her scalp. If this were _Laurel_ -Laurel on his lap, he’d ask if he’d hurt her, but this isn’t Laurel; this is the creature she morphs into, the persona that arises within her from only God knows where. He has no fucking clue where it comes from, in either of them – if maybe this had been in them all along, lying dormant, just waiting to be released.

“You feel what you do to me?” He grabs her hand, guides it down onto his cock, urges her to wrap her fingers around him over his slacks. “This what you want?”

“Please…” she says, her voice but a whisper, eyes glazed over with lust as she starts to stroke him, making him swallow. “If I’m good, and I do everything you say… Will you let me come?”

 _Christ._ Frank has to close his eyes for a moment, to stop himself from tossing Laurel down on the couch, ripping her clothes off, and fucking her right then and there. But he doesn’t, though lust flashes behind his eyelids like fireworks; he stays calm, but he can feel his composure slipping fast, like sand through his fingers.

“You wanna be good?” he rasps. “You let _me_ decide if you deserve to come. Now stand up. Clothes off.”

Laurel acts surprised for a moment, then lowers her eyes demurely and draws back, obeying with a soft _Yes, daddy_. Off go her blouse and bra, revealing bare breasts peaked with hardened pink nipples that make him salivate. Eyes never leaving him, Laurel shimmies her way out of her skirt next, kicking it aside and leaving only her knee socks on when she lowers herself back onto his lap. Almost trembling now with restraint, she leans in close, lips pressed against his ear, and lets out a breath. Her hips delve down against him, thighs pressing together to create any kind of friction she can get.

“ _Please_.” Her voice is more demanding now, a low whine, and the sound sends fire shooting hot through his veins, his dick thrumming like an electrified lightning rod. Something flickers behind her eyes; something more like determination, and Laurel leans in closer, brash and shameless, _daddy’s girl_. “I want your cock, daddy.”

 _Motherfucking shit._ He’s about as explicit with dirty talk as they come, but Laurel… The first time he’d seen her, when he’d picked her for the team, everyone had written her off as _the quiet one_ , the _wallflower_. A laugh bubbles up in his chest at the thought.

If only they could see her now.

Her little hands are creeping south, undoing his belt and then going for his zipper, and he hasn’t told her to do that, but can’t quite find it in himself to order her to stop, either. Adept as she is at touching him, it only takes Laurel a moment or so before she’s freed his cock and wrapped her fingers around his shaft, caressing him with something like reverence, eyes flicking up to look at Frank as if seeking approval and simultaneously not giving a fuck what he thinks, if he wants her to stop or keep going.

His voice comes out in a rough burst. “Fuck, princess…”

“Don’t you want to take care of me? Make me feel good?” she breathes in his ear. “You promised you would, daddy. You _promised_ you always would.”

He can feel the tide turning, shifting inexorably in Laurel’s favor, and all at once his authority is melting away, leaving him helpless. He hates it and _loves_ it when this happens, when he’s inexplicably too weak to do anything but let her take over and guide them instead, when he can do nothing but give in and indulge her. _His baby girl._

“I always do,” he grunts, when she grips him tighter. “You know I do.”

“Then give me what I _need_.” She’s insistent, now, with more than a hint of _spoiled brat_ in her tone, and that’s what he’s done, what he’ll always do: spoil her absolutely rotten.

He could be nice. Could be cruel. Could be a pleasant mix of both. Frank is in the middle of deciding which option to pursue when suddenly, his instincts take over, and he snaps back to himself as if awaking with a start from slumber, remembering who he is – or rather, who he’s _supposed_ to be, right now. He lets the realization pound through him, and in seconds, without sparing Laurel a bit of gentleness, he turns her around and all but slams her back against the couch. She cries out in surprise, and he urges her to the side, lying her down on her back, so that her head is resting on the armrest as he makes his way atop her.

“Think you’re the one bossin’ me around now?” He says the words so harshly that she flinches, but he can feel the shivers passing over her, can sense the thrill it gives her. “You need it? _Tell me_ what you need.”

“I-” Her voice breaks off, suddenly bashful.

“Said it before. What? Can’t say it now?” Laurel doesn’t answer, just averts her eyes. Not satisfied with that, he spreads her legs and places his hand against her sopping folds, giving them a firm pat – not quite a slap, but hard enough to make her gasp. “Who’s this belong to? Huh?”

He punctuates the question with another pat on her cunt, harder this time, enough to actually be called a _slap_. She inhales sharply and writhes beneath him, mewling.

“You, daddy,” she pants, and gives a breathless half-laugh. “You. Only you.”

He grins, and tugs her up in his arms, until she’s settled in his lap again, hair mussed. The mood lightens, and he could still be mean, maybe, but he doesn’t feel much like it tonight; not when Laurel looks so fucking much like the goddess she is right now, naked as the day she was born save for her knee socks, while he himself is still almost fully clothed. Every inch of her milky flesh is exposed, glowing gold in the dim light; she’s mesmerizing, with her pert breasts and harp-shaped hips and shaved, silky-smooth mound, and God, just really her _everything_.

“You’re damn right,” Frank hisses, capturing her lips in the first kiss they’ve shared all night; one with too much teeth and tongue, so savage that it’s more of an attack then an actual kiss. “Only me. Any other boy ever touches you, I’ll cut off his hand.” _Amongst other things,_ he thinks, but doesn’t say it, though he’s sure Laurel knows it’s implied.

It hits him, right then, when Laurel suddenly wriggles against his erection, just how agonizingly hard he is; he’s been hard practically since they stepped in the door. He can barely remember what it feels like _not_ to be, and they’ve been at this for so long that it’s almost ridiculous he isn’t inside her yet, when she’s naked on his lap, impossibly wet and squirming and all-so-eager to please him, her _daddy_.

So he grins, hiding his need as best he can, and looks her square in the eyes. “You want me to fuck you?”

“God, yes.” Her voice is strained. “ _Yes_.”

“Ask me nicely, now,” he purrs, and a full-bodied shudder ripples through Laurel, makes her quiver like a leaf in a hurricane. She’s hovering over his cock, so drenched she almost drips down onto him; with one gentle tug he’d be able to line her up and sink her down onto him and _take_ her, but he refrains. Just for a moment longer.  

“Fuck me. Please,” she breathes, placing a hand on his cheek and meeting his eyes, determined. “Daddy, _please_.”

That’s all it takes to persuade him. Without wasting another second, Frank places his hands on her hips and guides her down onto his cock, in one sharp, sudden movement. They both cry out when he slides inside her, and Laurel wraps her arms around the back of his neck, panting wildly, so close already that he can feel the delicate muscles in her pussy clench around him. All this teasing has them both teetering dangerously close to the edge, and when Laurel starts to ride him, moaning freely, he’s really damn worried he’s going to lose it, come in seconds.

As if hell bent on driving him mad tonight, Laurel opens her mouth and murmurs in his ear, sounding as sweet as she can, “How do I feel?”

Frank groans aloud, at that. He can’t help himself, and can’t find an answer for her, so Laurel continues to goad him, “You feel good. So _good_. You’re so big…”

Lord in fucking _heaven_ , he’s going to lose it. She can’t just _say_ that kind of shit in that voice, looking like this wide-eyed, innocent vixen as she rides him, and expect him to last. His hand is on the small of her back, guiding her onto him as she rocks her hips. He’s grappling to hold onto any last shred of willpower he can find, and coming up with nothing again and again as he inches inescapably toward the edge, the pressure inside him building, growing, swelling.

This whole thing… Hell, it’s so _fucked-up_. _He’s_ so fucked-up, and she is, too, and this gets them both off _because_ it’s so fucked-up, and – _Christ_. It’s all dark and twisted, and so wrong, but feels, somehow, so goddamn right. So right, so, _so_ right…

He notices Laurel moving one of her hands right then, drawing him out of his hazy reverie. She’s getting closer by the second, her walls tightening around his cock, and reaching down between her legs to rub at her clit, to bring herself off even faster. As quick as lightning, however, he reaches out to rip her arm away, forcing her to bring it up and wrap it around him once more, stopping her from touching herself.

“Uh uh. Hands off. Only daddy gets to make you come.”

Laurel whimpers indignantly, but doesn’t try to disobey, too far gone now even to protest that rule. The once-swift delving of her hips down onto him is growing more erratic, her rhythm breaking, becoming choppy as she chases her pleasure, and the sounds she’s making don’t sound like any he’s ever heard before: choked, almost like fluttery sobs, in that same upper register of her voice she’s been using all night. If he didn’t know better he’d say Laurel was actually crying; she’s so frantic and desperate to come that he thinks he can even see tears of frustration glistening on her cheeks.

And so, clutching onto his last scrap of self-control, he manages to growl, “Don’t come. Not ‘til I say.”

“Daddy…” Laurel barely sounds human, now. More like an animal; a whining, mewling, desperate animal, a slave to her instincts. “ _Fuck_ -”

He manages a half-grin. “Got… one hell of a mouth on you, princess.”

Another sound of indignation passes between her lips. She looks about ready to throttle him – and he’s not sure he blames her. He’s dragged this out longer than usual tonight, made her wait, and she’s been good, patient all the while – or, well, patient for the most part.

He’s ready to be nice, now. Ready to show her how _nice_ he can be.

“You can come now,” he murmurs. Laurel needs a bit of extra coaxing still, he can tell, so he reaches down, applying gentle pressure to her clit and feeling with the pads of his fingers where they’re joined: his cock buried deep inside her, her folds stretching deliciously to take him in. “C’mon. Let go. Be good for me.”

Like a ball of yarn, Laurel unravels at the words, falling apart into a million tiny threads and shaking to pieces and going tense atop him. Her back arches, mouth dropping open in a near-perfect ‘o’ as she wails, and the sight of her coming is nearly as majestic as the feeling: her cunt clenching and contracting greedily around him, as if wanting to hold his cock inside her forever, keep him there. And she’s so wet, so burning hot, and so good for him. So _good_ for him.

He wants to tell her what a good girl she is, murmur sweet nothings in her ear as she rides her orgasm out on top of him, but the cutting, white-hot eruption of his own climax makes the words die on his tongue, and turn into a nonsensical groan that half-sounds like her name, as he empties himself into her. Surprisingly tenderly, Laurel kisses the sound as it leaves his mouth, and they cry out like that against each other’s lips as their mouths collide, all tongue and too much saliva. They share each other’s breaths, suck them in, blow them out, until both their breathing has steadied again and they’ve descended back to earth, back from whatever higher plane of ecstasy they’d traveled to.

It’s a while before either of them speak.

Weak with aftershocks, Laurel pulls back, letting his cock slide out of her, followed by a few dribbles of his come, dripping from her folds as she moves away. She falls down at his side, lying back against the couch and drawing her knees up to her chest. The only sound to be heard is their heavy breathing, and Laurel’s head lolls to one side, eyes taking him in without a word. The sight of Laurel, with that droopy fog of post-coital exhaustion hanging over her, looking well-fucked, is so captivating that he can’t come up with anything to say, at first.

There’s always a tiny hint of guilt and a smattering of shame that hits him, whenever he comes down after this. When everything he’s said comes back to him, and they feel like the words of another man in another life; someone he doesn’t know or recognize. He doesn’t know what perverse part of his brain spawns them, turns him into this person – but then he looks at Laurel, and sees her looking back without a hint of shame or revulsion, and he knows, then, that this is right.

That it’s all okay. _More_ than okay.

“So,” Laurel finally says, teasingly, lowering her voice and returning to herself, “was I good, daddy?”

“That even a question?” he asks, and clears his throat, standing on shaky legs, tucking himself away, grabbing his glass, and taking a gulp of his liquor to clear the haze of sex from his mind. He turns to look back at her, a smirk playing at his lips. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

Laurel laughs softly. “I do.”

Frank downs the rest of his drink, sighs, then nods toward the bedroom. “You comin’ to bed or what?”

“Mmm,” Laurel hums, shaking her head, eyelids drifting shut as the first waves of slumber start to pull her under. “Carry me?”

After that, all _that_ – there’s no way in hell he can look at Laurel and refuse her anything in the world. Her wish is his goddamn command – his baby girl, his princess, his angel – and so he nods, walks over, and scoops her up bridal-style. She’s no trouble to carry, light as she is. Content, Laurel hums sleepily and nestles herself against his chest as he carries her into the next room, letting her down lightly. Her dark tresses fan out across his pillow, framing her face as she sprawls out, buck naked, all graceful limbs and gentle curves in the moonlight. As Frank moves back to remove the rest of his clothes, he just looks at her. Marvels at her.

Wonders over and over, to himself, how in the hell he got so _lucky_.

He climbs into bed as well after disrobing and draws her against his chest, wrapping a protective arm around Laurel and reaching up to stroke her hair, soothe the burn in her scalp he’d given her. She’s so small and delicate compared to him, a creature he could break frighteningly easily, dwarfed by his embrace, and he wants to hold her forever, stay in this bed for the rest of his life; that’s all he knows. Laurel fits in at his side like a puzzle piece, so perfectly that he can’t imagine her ever being anywhere else. And yeah, maybe this thing is about her belonging to him, but deep down it’s equally as much about _him_ belonging to _her_ – and he does.

Holy hell, he does.

Underneath all the dirty, lewd things he’d said, _she’d_ said, in this unfamiliar, twisted territory they venture into together, there’s tenderness, too; more than he could’ve imagined could come from something like that. So he presses a kiss to her temple, then her forehead, and then her nose, making Laurel giggle and open her eyes as he arrives at his destination and captures her lips.

“Love you,” she sing-songs after he pulls back, shifting her head down so that it’s resting on his bare chest, just barely toeing the line between consciousness and sleep, and slipping fast.

Frank links their fingers together, then brings her hand up and presses a kiss to the back of it, with all the tenderness in the world.

“Love you too, princess.”

He still has no damn clue where this came from, in either of them. Probably he never will – but it’s the most wrong and most fucking _right_ thing he’s ever felt in his life; that’s all he knows.

Well, maybe not right. Definitely not right. But to hell with _right_ , and good and proper and all the things they should do, things they should be.

This – this thing, filthy as it is – is real. This thing is _theirs_.


End file.
